


Stages II: A Thousand Miles

by Dorothy Marley (dmarley)



Series: Stages [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Frottage, M/M, Podfic Available, Romance, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-11-23
Updated: 1998-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmarley/pseuds/Dorothy%20Marley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Fraser is transferred back to Chicago, Ray realizes that they need to have a little chat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stages II: A Thousand Miles

**Author's Note:**

> [Download the podfic of "Stages II: A Thousand Miles"](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=KARS165K) (35:25) 12.16 MB

Fraser paused, flexing his shoulders briefly under the straps of the travois, easing the ache in his back as he straightened slightly, looking out over the snow-covered landscape. The cabin was still about a mile away, quiet and still, the dog run empty, the shuttered windows blank and unwelcoming. Behind him, Diefenbaker whined softly, and Fraser reached a gloved hand back, burying his fingers briefly in the soft fur bundled under the blankets.

"I know," he said quietly. "We're almost there." He straightened his shoulders again, re-settling the straps around his chest, and set off, dragging Diefenbaker behind him.

The cabin had weathered his brief absence well, only a small drift of snow from one of the patched windows marring the neatness of the room. Fraser set to building a fire at once, leaving Diefenbaker tucked in the litter until the air around the stove was warm enough for him to lie there safely. The wolf was recovering well, Dr. Fowler assured him, but he was still weak, and his shaved belly offered no protection from the cold. Fraser had even suggested, half-heartedly, that it might be better to leave him at the hospital until it was time to leave for the United States, but Dr. Fowler hadn't seen the need. Fraser had hidden his relief as he agreed.

It was selfish, he knew, but he couldn't deny that he hadn't exactly looked forward to being here all alone. There would be plenty to keep him busy, what with packing his father's things, and repairing and closing up the cabin and the shed, but that wouldn't make the nights any shorter. Or less lonely.

He didn't pursue that thought any further. He'd been alone all his life, hadn't he? Nothing new about it. No need to start dwelling on it now, when the _last_ thing that was going to be a problem in Chicago was being by himself.

Homecoming chores kept him busy for the rest of the daylight, too busy to dwell on things that couldn't be changed. But once it was dark, once he was forced to return to the cabin, the thoughts started to come back. He cooked a hot supper and ate it, coaxing Dief from his warm nest long enough for the wolf to inhale a stack of flapjacks, then undressed himself and got into bed.

The instant his head hit the pillow, he realized his mistake. Ray's scent was everywhere, permeating the sheets, the blankets, the pillow. He'd forgotten that it was here, had lost the memory of it over the nights spent in strange hotel beds and in his bedroll on the trail. But now, here, he was surrounded by it once more. He turned his face into the soft flannel, breathing deep, wrapping himself in the covers, bringing them to his nose before he was even aware of what, exactly, he was doing. When he did, he pushed the blankets back, forcing himself to turn on his back, away from the intoxicating lure of Ray's smell. It didn't help.

Ray was right. It had been a mistake, an impulsive surrender to feelings Ben hadn't even been aware existed until he was suddenly confronted with the consequences. That was the problem with obsession, he reminded himself ruefully. Focus was a good thing, but it could also be blinding. He'd been so busy looking for his father's killers, so obsessed with finding who was responsible--with doing this one, final thing for him--that he'd missed the way that he'd allowed a certain Chicago detective to worm his way close to him. And then, before he realized it, before he could start over again, Ray had become "friend."

When would he ever learn?

\-----

'When are you gonna learn, Vecchio?'

Ray stared glumly at the folders in front of him, regarding the small mountain of paperwork with the same enthusiasm as a man might approach the hangman's noose. Ten cases cleared in the last three days, a small miracle. Probably enough to keep in Welsh's good graces for at least this five minutes. Not hard to do, when he worked twelve and fifteen hours straight a day. When he threw himself into his work to forget everything that had happened in the last two weeks of his life.

It shouldn't have happened. How stupid could he have been, to get involved with a guy who lived thousands of miles away? A guy who didn't even have a _phone_? And let's just talk about that word "involved." Even to himself, he couldn't pretend that it had been just a one-night stand. He'd tried to convince Fraser, tried to convince himself, but it hadn't worked. Sure, it had become that, by harsh definition, but he couldn't kid himself. Much as his mouth had spouted the words, he hadn't believed for a second that one night with Benton Fraser was all he'd wanted.

Too bad. Because it looked like that was all he was going to get.

\-----

It had only been one night. One time. But the memory of it was burned into Fraser's body as if Ray had branded him with a hot iron. And in a way, he supposed he had. It had been so long since he'd let anyone . . . Fraser closed his eyes, pushing _that_ memory away. But even with . . . others, it hadn't been like this. He still flushed when he thought about it, the heat rising anew in his groin as he thought about the cries that had come from his lips, the moans and screams and pleas that he'd never, _never_ made before. Never wanted to make before. Ray had found something in him he'd thought lost a long time ago, found it and released it, forced Ben to let it go, to give it up to him like he'd given it to no one else. Ever.

He couldn't blame Ray for wanting to forget. Face it, they barely knew each other, had done little more than spend a couple of days working a single case together.

Which explained, of course, why Ray had disobeyed orders to continue working the case. Why he'd sought Ben out in that diner to talk to him. Why he'd come all the way north to tell him he'd solved the case. Why he'd pushed him out of the way of that bomb.

\-----

The guy drove him crazy. And how many times had Fraser nearly gotten him killed in just two days? Well, all right, the bomb had been his own fault. If he'd just stayed where he was, if he'd ducked behind the door, he probably wouldn't have been hurt. But no, he'd flung himself at the other man like some kind of deranged hero. Only problem was, he wasn't the hero. Heroes took headers out of second-story windows and landed without so much as a scratch. Non-heroes ended up in the hospital with their limbs in casts.

Ray leaned back in his chair, rubbing absently at his left wrist, only yesterday freed from the awkward brace. Well, not that awkward. He'd managed pretty well that night in the cabin, hadn't he? Amazing what a person could do for the sake of good sex.

Hell, who was he kidding? It hadn't been good. It had been incredible. Unbelievable. He'd felt as though he were flying, literally soaring, Fraser's body underneath him the only thing holding him to planet Earth. It had never been like that before, not with any other man, not with any woman. And it had scared him so much that he'd run like the coward he was. Never mind the excuses, the rationalizations. There was something there, something wonderful and special and terrifying, and he'd thrown it away. He deserved whatever he got.

\-----

It was probably best for Ray to have left. It had hurt, but not as much as it would have hurt if they'd continued. Ben knew that. He'd been there before. Best to break it off now, before things became . . . painful.

He had to laugh, the quiet chuckle breaking the still silence of the room, causing Diefenbaker's ear to cock back briefly. It was a little too late to be worrying about pain, after all. Not after walking in that morning, and being asked--pleaded, even--to pretend as though it hadn't happened. Being asked to let Ray go, let him return to his life in Chicago. And at the time, Ben had agreed with him. He had his life here, his home, his work. But that was all over now. By this time next week, he'd be in Chicago, too, this time for good. And he didn't have the slightest idea what to do about it.

\-----

A week later

\-----

Another week, another pile of paperwork. Ray propped his chin in his hands, staring at the stack of folders, only vaguely aware of the muted bustle in the squad room around him. His shift had been over hours ago, and he was still here, staring at paperwork, wondering if it was worth actually doing some of it as an excuse not to go home. When the phone rang, he pounced on it as a welcome distraction.

"Vecchio." A second later, he dropped his forehead to his desk blotter, groaning silently. "Yeah, Ma, I'm late. I know. No, I do not know when I'll be home." He listened a second longer, and raised his head. "Ma, I'll--" He broke it off, staring across the room, feeling his breath freeze in his throat. "I'll call you back," he croaked, and hung up without waiting for an answer.

"Hi, Ray."

Ray still couldn't speak. All he could do was sit, gaping, while Fraser walked up and took the chair next to his desk. He was out of uniform, for once, wearing an old plaid shirt, a faded henley, and worn blue jeans. He looked . . . good. Maybe a little tired, but there was an odd light in his eyes, a kind of peace. Fraser laid his hat carefully on top of Ray's Out basket, and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "Hello, Ray," he said again, and Ray finally found his voice.

"Fraser. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Ah, well, that's . . . " Fraser stopped, rubbing his eyebrow with his thumb. "That's a good question," he said at last. "And rather a long story."

There seemed to be something in Ray's throat, something that was making it difficult for him to talk. "I thought you weren't coming back."

That got a smile. "So did I." Fraser shrugged, straightening up his seat, folding his arms across his chest while he stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. "I suppose I should have anticipated what would happen. But as soon as I knew what Gerard had done, I knew what I had to do."

"So you turned in another cop," Ray finished gently. "Yeah. I'm guessing you're not the most popular man in the RCMP right now."

Fraser shook his head. "No. The dam project had a number of powerful political backers, as well. I'm told that they requested my resignation."

Ray felt a chill jolt through him, and he took another look, realizing only then the significance of the civilian clothes. "You resigned?" he almost whispered. "You left the force?"

The shocked horror in Fraser's eyes was enough to dispel that fear. "No. Of course not. But," he admitted, "I was forced to accept a permanent transfer back here. Well, I suppose anywhere outside of Canada would have done, but here I--" He broke it off, and cleared his throat. "That is to say, I already had a position here."

"I'm sorry," Ray told him. "Really. I know that living in Chicago wasn't exactly in your plans."

"Not exactly, no." Fraser smiled again, and reached for his hat. "Well. I simply wanted to come by, and say hello." He waved a hand at the stack of papers on Ray's desk. "I see that you're busy with your paperwork, so I won't keep you."

"Paperwork? Oh . . ." One firm shove sent the pile of folders tumbling into a handy box. "What paperwork?" Ray stood up, reaching for his jacket. "Come on. The least you can do is let me buy you a 'welcome to Chicago' Italian dinner."

"Well, I didn't--"

"What? You've got plans already?" Ray glanced behind Fraser. "And where's your wolf?"

"Still in quarantine, until tomorrow."

"Good. One less mouth to feed." Ray shrugged into his jacket, and strode around the desk. "Come on. I ain't got all night."

\-----

"This is where you're living?" Ray asked, looking up dubiously at the dingy facade of the hotel, and thinking about his insurance rates. Beside him, Fraser cocked his head to follow his gaze, and nodded.

"Yes. It's inexpensive--"

"That I believe."

"--and it's near my work." Fraser turned to him again. "You know, Ray, you didn't have to drive me home."

"Look, I take someone to dinner, I don't leave them on the sidewalk afterwards, all right?" Ray shut off the engine, and reached to unlock his door.

"Ray, you don't have to--"

"You don't want me to come up?"

For a second, Fraser actually reminded him of a fish, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for words. "No," he said at last. "No, unless you don't want to. I mean, don't feel as though you have to."

"Believe me, after seeing this place, I feel strongly that at least one of us should be armed, and that means me." Ray got out and shut the door. "Now come on."

Fraser's room was on the top floor, and it was, thankfully, late enough in the evening that they were actually able to ride the elevator without having to wait for women, old people, and children. Ray preceded Fraser inside, turned to face the door, and stared silently at the wall as the elevator started up.

They hadn't talked about it. They'd talked all through dinner, through the appetizers and the salad and the pasta and the dessert and the coffee--tea and coffee, that is--swapping anecdotes, reviewing the Gerard case, going over every detail of the days they'd spent working together. Every detail but one.

It was like a huge black hole, sitting at the center of everything else they discussed. And the more they ignored it, Ray noticed, the more it grew, looming in the middle of the conversation until every word spoken was all but screaming its presence. And it didn't help that Fraser looked so damn good in the muted candlelight, his eyes catching the flames, his rare smile flashing in the dimness. Ray couldn't bring himself, even now, to regret what they'd done, but he was finding a hell of a lot of reasons to regret how he'd handled it afterwards. And a dismal lack of ideas as to what to do about it now.

"I appreciate you coming in," Fraser said presently, his blue gaze fixed in apparent fascination on the changing numbers on the floor counter. "It's very . . . thoughtful of you to escort me."

"Yeah, like you need it," Ray said grumpily, but he still felt a tiny thrill at hearing the thanks. Damn him, anyway. He followed Fraser down the hall to his door, and waited while the other man unlocked the door and let him in.

"Nice place," Ray said dryly, taking in the peeling paint, dingy carpet, and sagging mattress. "Glad to see the Canadian government is sparing no expense."

Fraser shifted his knapsack from the room's single chair, offering it to Ray with a gesture. "Well, it's only temporary. I'll have to find more permanent quarters soon." He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it carefully in the closet, then crossed to the bed and sat down. "Thanks again, Ray," he said.

"For what?"

Fraser only shrugged. "For taking me to dinner. For coming up." He raised his eyes. "For being my friend."

Ray let the silence stretch for a long moment. "Friend," he repeated, and smiled. "Yeah. Friends." He smiled, and then felt the smile fade as he looked, really looked, into the face of the man sitting close to him. He looked away, and back, and sighed. Now or never. "So. Are we going to talk about it?"

The flicker in those blue eyes was enough to tell him that Fraser understood damn well, but he said it anyway. "Talk about what, Ray?"

"You know damn well about what," Ray said without heat. "About the thing that we said we weren't going to talk about again."

"Ah." Fraser looked away, carefully folding his hands between his knees. "I respect your position, Ray. You made it clear that you felt that we had made a mistake, and I--"

"No. No, _I_ made the mistake, all right? I was the one who said to forget it. And I was wrong."

Fraser blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You want to hear it again? Okay. I was wrong. Maybe having sex with you right then and there wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done, but it's nothing compared to the stupidity of trying to pretend that it wasn't one of the most important moments of my whole life." Ray swallowed. "I've never felt like that before, Fraser, not ever. Maybe it was what you said, the whole survival thing, but I can't believe that. That night--"

"--was incredible."

Ray stopped, staring stupidly as Fraser softly finished the sentence for him. "Yeah," he said. "It was."

Fraser ducked his head, nodding. "But you were right, Ray. At the time, it would have been foolish, not to mention impractical, to attempt to sustain a relationship over the distance of the continent. Not that it hasn't been done, but given our situation, the . . ." He hesitated, then finished delicately, " . . . the uncertainty of our situation, I think we made the right decision."

"And what about now?" Ray waited. "We're not a thousand miles apart anymore. We're right here, in the same country, in the same city." He paused. "In the same room."

The brief, quick intake of breath was almost imperceptible, but Ray saw the pulse leap in Fraser's throat, and knew he'd hit a nerve. "Ray--" he began, but his voice caught roughly on the words, as if his mouth had suddenly gone dry. He cleared his throat, and tried again. "Ray, I'm not sure--"

"Not sure about what? Not sure we can make it? Not sure if we're feeling what we're feeling? Not sure if it's real? Not sure what 'it' is? Hey, I got news for you, Fraser. I'm not sure, either." Ray stood up, pacing to the window, aware of Fraser's eyes boring into his back as he stood there, trying to find the words to explain. "Love's a hell of a lot like jumping off a cliff--something you should know about--"

Fraser was starying, his eyes wide. "Love? Ray, I'm--"

"--you can stand there as long as you want, making up your mind, but once you jump there's no going back. And you can't wait too long."

For a second, Fraser just stared. Then, he said quietly, "I know." He looked away. "But you can also get hurt jumping from cliffs, Ray."

"Yeah." Ray turned back. "I know. But maybe, sometimes, you learn to fly."

For a long time, Fraser just looked at him, saying nothing. Then he smiled, a small, bitter twist of his lips that Ray hadn't seen before, and wasn't sure he liked. Then the smile faded, and Fraser looked away. "That's a trick I haven't learned yet, I'm afraid."

Ray regarded him for a long moment. "Then maybe it's time to start trying." He waited, then moved back from the window, silently reaching down to push Fraser's bedroll aside so that he could sit next to him on the bed. He sat, staring down at the floor, studying the dingy carpet beneath their feet. "We have to try, Fraser. Sink or swim. Fly or fall. Can you do that, Fraser? Do you want to?" He paused, waiting, but Fraser didn't answer. "Can I ask you something?" The other man nodded silently. "Do you want me?"

Fraser's throat worked as he swallowed, and he licked his lips. His mouth opened and closed, then he looked right into Ray's eyes, and answered, simply, "Yes."

"If I asked you, would you make love to me again?" Ray searched his face. "Do you want to make love to me?"

Fraser swallowed again, and nodded, his lips parting softly in another, almost whispered, "Yes. Yes, I do." He hesitated for a moment, then leaned a little closer, reaching up to frame Ray's face in his hands, laying his thumbs gently along the curve of his jaw. He kissed him once, softly, then drew back.

"Okay then," Ray said.

They kissed again, and Ray leaned forward, urging Fraser back onto the bed, feeling the other man slowly yield to him, arms reaching up to draw Ray down beside him. Fraser's arms wrapped around him, one hand tangling in Ray's hair, the other sliding across his back, gripping him fiercely as he kissed him, hard, then let him go.

"I missed you, Ray," he said softly. "Every night I thought about you, so far away."

"I know," Ray answered, his hands already working at the buttons of Fraser's shirt. "I missed you, too," he added, almost as an afterthought, his attention focused now on the soft, worn flannel under his hands, on pulling it aside to get to the layers of clothing underneath. Fraser's hands were pushing Ray's own shirt from his shoulders, his broad, square palms running possessively down Ray's arms, his lips dropping to brush the newly-bared skin. The touch send a trickle of molten fire down Ray's body, triggering a vividly-remembered flood of sensation. Then Fraser licked him, trailing hot, bone-melting wetness up the side of his throat, and Ray heard himself moan aloud. Fraser made a soft, satisfied noise in his throat, as if he'd just discovered the solution to an interesting puzzle, and Ray couldn't help but think that the puzzle was him.

Fraser rolled in the bed, bringing Ray on top of him, and for a long, hazy span of time they did nothing more than lie there, kissing, slowly drowning in the feel and fit of their bodies, half-discarded clothing forgotten around them. Fraser bent his knee, letting Ray's leg slip between his thighs, and they both gasped as their groins shifted together, the jolt of sensation flashing down the backs of Ray's knees, right down to his toes. They pressed closer, and Ray breathed out slowly as he felt Fraser's hardness under his thigh. He moved his leg, rubbing hard, just once, and Fraser made a muffled noise under him, his hands dragging swiftly up Ray's back to grip his head, bringing him closer for a hot, searing kiss. "Ray . . ." he breathed into Ray's mouth, and the desperation Ray heard was all he needed. He was so close himself, and he knew that there was no way they could make this last much longer.

It was so hard to pull himself away, to lift his aching groin from the sweet pressure of Fraser's thigh, but he had to get rid of these damn clothes, had to feel his hard cock against bare skin before he went crazy with frustration. Fraser apparently agreed with him, joining Ray in removing his clothes as quickly as possible, tossing jeans, shirt, boots and socks willy-nilly around the bed until they were both naked. They fell back in bed without a word, mutely arranging themselves once more, this time on their sides, locking arms and legs around one another until they were all but fused together, naked skin pressed to naked skin, their cocks rubbing together in the tight cavern of their sealed bodies. Fraser began to rock, slowly, and Ray picked up his rhythm at once, settling down into an easy, slow grind that, he soon realized, could go on for a long, long time.

They made it last as long as they could, moving together in a sensual, leisurely dance on top of the bed, kissing and caressing, their hands exploring each other, every touch adding fuel to the slow burn of desire. Ray couldn't remember the last time he'd been this turned on, this close to the knife-edge of release for so long, but not willing, yet, to go over. This was so good, so sweet, their bodies moving together, sweaty skin pressed close, rivulets trickling down between them, teasing them. Ray's cock pumped deliciously into the slick space between them, his hips thrusting in a glorious, mindless beat that only he and Fraser could hear. Fraser's face was gorgeously flushed, his eyes dilated with pleasure, his mouth searching helplessly for Ray's skin, kissing him blindly, not seeming to care where his lips fell, so long as he could keep his mouth pressed to Ray's warm skin. The pace increased, just a little, and Ray gripped Fraser's back harder, wanting to keep going forever, but equally helpless to prevent the gradual quickening of the tempo, as his mind finally surrendered to the demands of his body.

Fraser finally bucked against him, hard, and that was all it took. Ray took up the new rhythm, thrusting hard and fast against the man lying next to him, feeling Fraser match him stroke for stroke, his hands digging into Ray's back, pulling him closer as they drove themselves hard towards the swift, gasping finish. Ray felt it building, felt it creep up from his toes and down from his fingers, filling him up until he couldn't hold it in any longer, until he had no choice but to let it to. His orgasm poured out of him in a long, glorious shudder, his body convulsing against Fraser's, helplessly driving the peak of desire even higher as he shook against him. He was only barely aware of Fraser coming a few moments later, every sense he owned still focused only on the soft, slowing pulses of his own cock. Then Fraser made a quiet, incoherent sound against him, his back shivering under Ray's hands, and Ray felt the gentle twitch of his penis next to Ray's, spilling the last few drams of orgasm, and realized that they'd practically come together.

"Wow," Ray said, as soon as he had breath to speak again, as soon as he could persuade his leaden arms to move, to stroke the sweaty, cooling skin of the man next to him. "I guess it wasn't just a one-time thing, huh?"

Sluggishly, Fraser shook his head, his lips mouthing idly at the curve of Ray's neck. "No," he said quietly. "I guess not." He fell silent, and Ray didn't speak again, following him into the familiar dark peace. He knew they should move, should at least clean up the mess of their sticky bodies, but he couldn't bring himself to get up, not yet. Not while Fraser was lying warmly against him, strong and solid and peaceful, his arms draped heavily around Ray's body, holding him close. After a moment, he gave a long, deep sigh, and Ray realized that he'd just fallen asleep, slipping into slumber between one breath and the next, as easily as a man might step through a door. Ray spent a brief moment envying him, watching him breathe deeply next to him, then closed his eyes and followed him.

\-----

In the morning, Ray woke and, for a moment, experienced an almost painful moment of deja vu. He was alone, the small hotel room empty, the door to the bathroom wide open, proving that Fraser had once again slipped away. But, before he could even begin to feel his heart sink in dread, the door opened and Fraser came in, carrying his hat under one arm, and holding a large paper sack. He glanced at the bed, saw Ray sitting there, and smiled as he shut the door behind him.

"Good morning, Ray," he said.

"Morning, Fraser." Ray moved his legs to make room as Fraser came to the bed, sitting himself down next to Ray and putting the bag between them. He hesitated a second, looking doubtfully into Ray's eyes, then leaned forward and offered a tentative, almost shy kiss. Ray accepted, lifting his hands to cup the back of Fraser's head, turning the kiss into something neither tentative nor shy, holding it until they were both breathless. Fraser pulled away, still smiling, and regarded him.

"How are you?" Fraser asked.

"I'm good," Ray said, smiling. "Yourself?"

"Fine." Fraser regarded him for another long moment, then asked quietly, "How's your memory?"

"My memory? Oh." Ray sat back, folding his hands behind his head. "My recall," he said, "is perfect. Satisfied?"

That got a smile, and a nod. "Yes." Fraser opened the bag, and pulled out a bagel. "I brought breakfast."

Ray took the bagel from him, looked at it, and grinned. "You Mounties," he said. "So romantic."

They ate breakfast sitting on the bed, Fraser taking off his shoes and socks to stretch out next to Ray, propping himself against the wall while they shared the bag of bagels.

"You don't have to work today?" Ray asked, finally realizing, belatedly, that it was nearly ten in the morning.

"Diefenbaker is being released from quarantine today. Since he got in such a snit the last time, I thought I'd better arrange to have the day off to spend with him." Fraser shook his head. "Sometimes he has no appreciation for the law." He offered the last bite of his bagel to Ray, and when Ray refused he tucked it carefully in the bag with the leftover bagels. "What about you?"

"Well, seeing as how I cleared ten cases last week, I think I can afford to take the day off." Ray watched Fraser get up, and stow the bagels carefully in one of his bags. Then he returned to the bed and stretched out next to Ray again, lacing his hands behind his head. "So," Ray said.

Fraser waited. "So, what, Ray?"

Ray was silent for a long time. "I guess what I want to know is, how do you feel about this?" He waited. "About us?"

"Us? You mean about you and me."

"Yeah, I mean about you and me."

Fraser looked down, at his bare feet, crossed on top of the covers. "I don't know," he said at last, quietly, and Ray felt his heart sink. "I'm not sure what I'm feeling," he admitted at last, then looked up, away from Ray, out over the small, cramped space of the room. "But I think . . ." he trailed off, and Ray finally got the courage to prompt him.

"Yeah?"

Fraser swallowed, still looking away from him, out at the sky visible through the dingy window. "I think I might have learned to fly."

Ray felt his mouth stretch into a broad grin. "Yeah," he said. "So did I."

THE END


End file.
